


you got me in my feelings

by ellawho



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Edging, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Without Plot, drama teacher richie and stats teacher eddie AU, handjob, he deserves it, just give it to him, mention of blowjobs and other things but it's pretty much all in richie's head, richie tozier wants to get railed by new divorcée eddie kaspbrak, richie wants That dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellawho/pseuds/ellawho
Summary: He should stop thinking about Eddie, he should stop trying so hard to get his attention. But sometimes it's stronger than him. Sometimes he just wants to rip all his clothes off until he's naked, push him down the bed and sit on his dick to ride him until his legs fall off. God, he thinks about it too often. His dick. He thinks about how it would feel in his hand, inside his ass, down his throat.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 118





	you got me in my feelings

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello, hi. ella here. just a quick disclaimer before you start reading. this short OS is the result of a reddie roleplay Steph and i are writing together. the storyline revolves around a reddie au where richie is a drama teacher and eddie is a stats teacher. they both work in the same school and have been dancing around each other for a while. eddie has been officially divorced for a couple of months (he's been married to Phil, an OC, for a few years) and richie just recently found out about it. that being said, enjoy! also english isn't my first language so don't be too harsh. :D

Richie puts the phone down and it's like all the promises he tried to make in the past few weeks go out of the window. His glare drops to his pajama bottoms, especially to the obnoxious bulge straining the fabric of his pants.

“Ah, shit.”

He shouldn't feel that way, not about a man who's just gotten through a very complicated divorce. God, what was he doing? Crushing on a new divorcée, flirting with him, letting his feelings get the best of him. He should stop thinking about Eddie, he should stop trying so hard to get his attention. But sometimes it's stronger than him. Sometimes he just wants to rip all his clothes off until he's naked, push him down the bed and sit on his dick to ride him until his legs fall off. God, he thinks about it too often. His _dick_. He thinks about how it would feel in his hand, inside his ass, down his throat.

Richie thinks about how good it would make him feel, how squeamish and whiny he would get, pleading for Eddie’s cock at any time of the day.

He finds himself fantasizing about a quickie at school, bent over his work desk, after everyone has left the classroom. Or in the broom closet, in the filthy bathroom on the second floor, in the backseat of his cheap car, in the chemistry lab, in the theater. Richie's eager. He dreams about what he can't — and probably will never — have. He craves something that should be off limits, forbidden, for God knows how long.

But his eyes can't move away from the obvious boner that looks like it would explode, if he didn't take care of it. But he can't — _can he_?

But, Jesus fuck, those eyes, those hands, those fucking hands and their firm grip... his legs, slim and toned, and his ass. How he wants to dig his fingertips into it and squeeze, just to make him moan. How would he sound? God, he'd sound heavenly. What would his expressions be if Richie tried to touch him in all the right spots?

Richie's hand starts traveling down his chest, heading to his abdomen. Fingertips play along the thick patch of hair that leads down to his crotch, and when they brush against the hem of his pajama bottoms, his hips rock up into his own touch. He can feel himself throb under the slim layer of clothing, and he's pretty sure he's already wet.

His theory is proven to be right when his fingers slip past the elastic of his pants and boxers, smearing the puddle of precum that splotched his skin, right above the head of his cock. Richie sucks in a breath when his thumb slides across the wet tip and proceeds to rub it in circles. A whine leaves his throat, and he's ready to slide his palm across the head of his dick to smear some of the precum onto his aching length.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, as soon as his fingers close around the base of his hardness, squeezing the right amount just to relieve some of the tension.

The thought of Eddie is intoxicating to his mind and senses, it sends Richie in a state of complete trance from the first moment he starts pumping his hand up and down his shaft, because he can't wait any longer, because he needs the friction more than he needs oxygen. His eyes flutter closed at the first stroke, brows knit together, forming a crease in the middle of his forehead.

The picture of Eddie is still vivid in his mind, alongside the last message he sent him.

’ _I actually have to take a shower, so I'm probably gonna have to go._ ’

And now Richie can't help but imagine Eddie's veiny hands unbuttoning his light blue shirt until it's completely opened and ready to be discarded someplace in his bathroom. He thinks about how he's probably stripping out of the rest of his clothes and getting inside the shower, thinks about the way hot water gently wets his hair and drips on his skin in rivulets, about the way he grunts at the pressure of the water jet against his tensed muscles.

A sigh leaves Richie's lips, soon followed by a twitch of his hips at the speeding up of his strokes. It’s quick, and urgent and desperate; Richie doesn’t recall him being that needy when it came to jerking off, doesn’t recall being that desperate about getting railed by someone the same way he’s desperate about Eddie.

He wants everything about him. Wants every inch of his cock buried deep inside him, and he wants it rough. He wants Eddie to mark his skin, to scratch his back and dig his nails in his flesh until it _hurts_.

His hand isn’t enough. Richie wants more, and above all he wants that hand to be Eddie’s. He wants him to touch his dick, pump it relentlessly, take it in his mouth, even. And he hates himself for wanting that, but he does. More than anything else.

His other hand reaches down to help himself out of his boxers and pants and that’s when he finally cups his balls to massage them slowly; then his movements start matching the ones around his dick, along with the rocking of his hips into his fist. And he’s soon fucking his hand like his whole life depends on it, on the firm thrusts and the snapping of his hips. His breath is ragged, sweat beading his forehead, making his hair stick to his skin, and the more he jerks off, the more he craves.

It’s not enough. No matter how hard he strokes, no matter how hard he imagines. Eddie’s hands all over his body, pinching his nipples, sucking hickeys on his stomach and thighs, stroking his dick until Richie would’ve come undone. It was all too good and too out of reach.

The pressure on his balls intensifies just a little bit, and Richie lets his head fall against the pillow. There’s a choked gasp at the feeling, and Richie knows he’s getting close. The familiar, warm sensation of heat gathering at the bottom of his abdomen, building up after every touch and stroke, spreading wider and wider, makes his whole body twitch in anticipation. His wrist moves a little quicker, a little steadier, helping himself to achieve his own climax as the image of Eddie’s lips stretched around his cock plays in his head. Richie can imagine, as much as feel, the sensation of Eddie’s warm mouth on him, engulfing his length and swallowing it down until the last inch, until he can feel the head of his dick hit the back of Eddie’s throat.

He imagines the whiny noises that Eddie would do, how tears would prickle at the corner of his eyes as he tries to take all of him and holyfuckingshit, he’s almost there. He’s one step away from cumming all over his stomach, but instead of easing his climax, he abruptly stops moving his hand.

His cock twitches into his fist, grip loosening a little bit so that he can move his fingers down his shaft and squeeze them around the base. Richie gasps, his whole body freezes then writhes at the feeling, frustration and frantic desire taking over his senses.

His eyes are still closed, and the picture of Eddie between his legs is as neat as ever. He’s still holding his dick in his hand, but his lips have parted from it. Now he’s cheekily smiling up at Richie, a smug smirk plastered across red, swollen lips. Richie is one step away from begging the imaginary Eddie in his head to stop teasing, but then the slightest movement of his wrist makes him lose complete control.

The rhythm of his strokes is steadier and quicker than the one he started off with; it matches the one Eddie was following and it brings tears to his eyes. Richie lifts his hips from the mattress and fucks up into his fist some more, just when Eddie has managed to swallow him whole and has allowed him to fuck his face. Richie’s hips move frantically, and it’s like he can hear Eddie’s wet, choked moans rolling onto his dick the more he thrusts.

It all feels too good, so good that Richie can’t keep quiet. So he’s moaning, loud and frantic, it doesn’t make sense but saying Eddie’s name like that feels good, almost liberating. The warm feeling in his abdomen is back, and this time he’s chasing after it, waiting for it to build up and spread all across his body.

“Yeah, God, _Eddie_ … feels good, so good, God _please_ , let me come. Please _Eds_ —”

Richie can see him. See his brown doe eyes looking up at him, see the mischievous smirk behind them as he gets ready to finish him off. They’re beautiful, oh they’re fucking beautiful and deep, they know him, they can read inside his mind, they can read his body signals like no one else. Those stunning, mysterious eyes of his who make him weak in the fucking knees—

And Richie is coming all over his stomach in long, violent spurts, moaning Eddie’s name like it’s the only word that matters. His body shakes and jerks, while his hand keeps stroking his dick through the whole climax, until the last drop of cum is released, until his length throbs for the last time.

It’s the first time Richie opens his eyes in minutes, too lost and wrapped up in his imagination to even bother. He blinks, once, twice, then reaches up to settle his glasses on top of his nose with his clean hand. He takes a moment to calm down, waiting for his breathing and his heartbeat to normalize. Then, he finally lifts his head from the pillow and glances down at the complete mess he made of himself.

His fingers run across his damp locks as a loud sigh leaves his lips; he can feel guilt knotting his way to his stomach, tightening around it in a deadly grip. Richie feels sick, ashamed of himself for what he just did. For a moment he can’t bring himself to move and get all cleaned up, even though he feels disgustingly dirty.

How is he going to act around Eddie when he sees him at school the following day, knowing what happened the previous night? He doesn’t wanna think about it. And he’ll try not to, he’ll try to keep his mind distracted as he drags himself to the bathroom, hoping that the water would wash away the dirt and cancel what he’s done.

But water is _just_ water.

Richie grips the border of the sink and looks right in front of him, directly into the steamy reflection of his eyes in the mirror. No matter how hard he tries to deny it, the voice in the back of his head won’t leave him alone.

He’s fucked.


End file.
